


i won't cry myself to sleep, if i do i'll die

by moonmotels



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmotels/pseuds/moonmotels
Summary: 'I hope we can meet again, sometime, in another life. Bye, Delia.’
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Comments: 6
Kudos: 90





	i won't cry myself to sleep, if i do i'll die

**Author's Note:**

> a friends au if ross and rachel were both blonde gay women

_But don't call me "baby" again_  
_It's hard for me to go home_  
_be_  
_so_  
_lonely_

* * *

  
For it being nearly ten pm in the middle of June, New Orleans is way too fucking hot for Cordelia.

The cobble lined sidewalks leading their way to the bar is proving to be a large feat for her to conquer. Her once-thought sensible wedges were the worst possible choice she could have made, already making her feel wobbly despite the minimal amounts of alcohol in her system.

Tonight’s her last night in New Orleans, but she’ll be actively choosing not to think about that. She believes, oddly enough, that she’ll be able to separate her responsibilities from the feelings that have grown intricately around her heart in the last seven months.

Even though she’s originally from here, New Orleans hadn’t felt like home when she’d arrived all those months ago, fresh off a twelve year relationship with enough ideas to start the book she’d been considering for years. When her Aunt Myrtle called on her to take a vacation and come stay at her home, that short trip turned into a several month long stay. 

She’s due back to New York tomorrow to meet with her publisher and get back to her normal life, but that’s a problem for later. 

Here, in this old town full of enigmatic history and strange faces, Cordelia had reconnected with old friends and made new ones, surprising even herself with that last one.

New friends, she found, in the form of Misty Day.

Misty. What a mystifying, beautiful, all too cryptic woman.

At least Cordelia _thinks_ they’re friends. If friends share a bed some nights after they’ve had too much wine and watched too much trashy tv. Or maybe if they hold hands during scary movies and decline to let go long after it ends. Or, perhaps, if friends simply two-step around the topic looming over their heads regarding Cordelia’s untimely return to New York in the next thirteen hours.

In the time it’s taken her to fall back into an easy routine in her childhood town, Cordelia has also fallen into a deep pit of longing for blonde waves and sparkling blue eyes.

But that’s not the most pertinent problem at the moment as she stumbles along the sidewalk up to the bar. The car had dropped her off at the end of the street, all too unwilling to drive her the extra hundred yards to the door as another customer was waiting up the next block. She finally makes it, smoothing her short navy blue dress down and checking that she hadn’t ruined her new shoes.

Inside, Cordelia follows Coco’s instructions and takes the stairs up to the second floor. When she hits the top step, a thunderous ‘ _surprise_!’ has her nearly falling backwards, if not for Coco’s warm hand gripping her upper arm.

Cheeks flushed jubilantly, the smell of tequila already on her breath, Coco leans in and smiles wickedly. “You really thought this’d be a quiet night? I had to go all out, baby.”

Cordelia finds herself smiling automatically, warmed at the thought of Coco doing this for her. A lonely childhood full of memories that cling to her like rot had done this to her; had led her to believe her place in other people’s lives is fleeting. Them being here, all in one place _for_ her, has her insides constricting with happiness.

She can see her old and new friends have come; gathered in every corner, drinks in hand, save for the one person she wants to see most. 

Craning her neck, Cordelia meets Misty’s electrifying eyes over the shadows of lights and blurry faces. With her, everyone else always seems to fade away as if they mean nothing; have no discernible impact on Cordelia the way Misty does. They share a suggestive look, an impish grin creeping at the edges of Cordelia’s lips. Misty raises a hand to motion her towards the bar, but she misses it when Zoe bumps into her from behind, snapping her out of the daze she always seems to be in when she’s around Misty.

“Cor _delia_ ,” Zoe drawls, already a little intoxicated, “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I know, Zo, I’m really going to miss you too.” When she was younger and desperate for money, Zoe had been the first kid she babysat all summer long. Now older and desperate for friends, it’s nice that she's old enough to share a going-away drink with her.

Their friend Queenie all but tackles Cordelia from behind, catching her off guard with a squeal launching from the back of her throat. She turns and hugs Queenie like she means it, feeling liquid slosh down the back of her dress and trickle slowly down her calves. “Here,” Queenie hands her a clear shot glass, grinning when Cordelia eyes it suspiciously. “It’s called a slippery slide, because after a couple of these you’ll be falling the fuck down.” She roars with infectious laughter and Cordelia can’t help but join her, taking the shot with the straightest face she can manage.

“Oh, that’s awful,” she sputters, “I want another one.”

“That’s my bitch.” Queenie claps her on the shoulder and takes her glass, flitting off to order another round.

Cordelia is jostled around to person by person, hugging and doing shots with those who insist before finally making it to the bar on her own. A little unsteady on her feet, she straddles the stool and plops down, her toes already thanking her for the relief. She’s not alone for long as she pours over the menu, but the presence is entirely welcome. The soft press of a gentle hand on her thigh has her swooning, opening up the gates of her heart like the golden ones that hopefully await her in the afterlife. The smell of jasmine and patchouli has her head swimming before she even looks over. It’s heady, this rush she gets in Misty’s presence, and it’s only getting more difficult to push down as the days go on. The harder she tries to avoid her feelings, the worse they seem to be when she spends time with Misty.

It’s ridiculous.

(Maybe a couple thousand miles distance between them will do the trick.)

“Hey there.”

“Hey yourself, Miss Popular. I’ve been trying to talk to you all night,” Misty rolls her eyes comically, but she still looks so beautiful it makes Cordelia want to cry.

“What can I say?” She opens her arms wide, gesturing broadly, “I’m just _so_ loved that nobody will know what to do with themselves when I leave tomorrow.” 

Misty’s face falls, but she keeps it structured enough for Cordelia not to notice. The drink in her hand is slick with condensation and with the way her heart drops at the reminder, she almost does the same to the glass. The idea of Cordelia leaving is quite possibly the worst case scenario, right up there with falling for her over the last six months.

“Yeah, it’ll be somethin’ when I wake up tomorrow and nobody is gon’ wanna hang out with me.”

The thought of Misty being alone has Cordelia’s heart tightening in her chest, like someone has taken it from her and squeezed every last drop out before returning it. She sets a reminder to have Coco take Misty out every so often so she doesn’t go back to being the hermit Cordelia knows she is. 

“I hope you know that I’ll most definitely call. And visit,” she adds too quickly. That’s at the top of her to-do list once her book is in its final stages of publishing.

Misty waves her off. “You’ll be too famous in the big apple to even remember me,” It’s meant to be a joke but the sadness inside her at the idea of Cordelia going home spills out along with it, leaving her frowning. She can’t keep the displeasure coiled up inside her chest much longer; where it’s gearing up to come springing out without so much as a warning. Misty wonders if Cordelia knows how she feels, if she knows that the second she leaves Misty will be left with nothing but the shell of her former self. She hopes Cordelia does.

But on second thought, maybe it’s best she doesn’t.

Cordelia leans over in lieu of shouting, places her chin on the curve of Misty’s shoulder, and has the nerve to say, “I will never forget you. Never.”

And she means that. Misty is that type of woman you’ll never forget, no matter how many lives you live.

Seemingly remembering they’re in public, Cordelia moves back, looking extremely unwilling to do so. It makes Misty want to kiss her for quite possibly the millionth time since they’ve met. As if on loop like a shitty infomercial at four am, the thought of pressing her lips against Cordelia’s haunts Misty late at night; creeping into her subconscious like an electrifying drug exposing all of your inner most desires. It’s not for the faint of heart, she thinks, wanting someone so badly that it scares you into not saying anything.

Just as she opens her mouth to say something, anything, Coco ruins their semi-intimate moment by flying up behind them and pulling them both off the stool. “Come on, we’re playing truth or dare before Zoe ends up too white girl wasted.”

“White girl what?” Cordelia wonders, earning her a playful jab in the stomach and cheeky grin from Misty who thinks she’s actually joking.

The wooden table pushed up against the corner is lined with various shots of alcohol, all making Cordelia’s stomach turn more than the last.

“Y’all bitches ready?” 

Misty ignores Cordelia’s hand on the small of her back and simply nods in agreement. 

“You know the drill, you have to do the truth or dare. If you don’t, well,” she gestures towards the alcohol. “Cords, as the guest of honor, you go first.”

“Okay, okay,” Cordelia surrenders, “Coco - truth or dare?”

“Truth. Give me something spicy.”

“When did you lose your virginity?” 

“Jesus, what are we children with these fucking questions?” Coco dramatically sighs, “I was like, fifteen. You suck at this.”

Cordelia gapes. “You were having sex at fifteen?”

“You were _not_?”

Coco turns to Zoe and scoffs _Jesus_ under her breath. Then louder, “Truth or dare baby.”

“Truth.”

“When are you going to admit you have a crush on Madison?”

Zoe swallows the lump in her throat, eyes wild and frantic. She takes a shot off the table and downs it, keeping her face steady. “That’s my answer.” Steeling her gaze towards Misty, she then asks, “Your turn.”

“Truth. Go easy on me,” she laughs beautifully and it sends a tingle up Cordelia’s spine.

“Do _you_ have a crush on anyone?” 

The fabric of Misty’s loose blouse is bunched at where she rests her elbow on the table. Cordelia is too busy staring at her forearm, admiring her delicate wrist when she nearly misses Misty’s answer.

“Yes.” 

Without further explanation, she takes a shot off the table and tosses it down easily. As the liquor hits the back of her throat, she looks around the table and jokes, “What? I just think Zoe’s the cutest lil thing.” 

Cordelia is silent, her head swimming with alcohol and Misty’s unexplainable response. When Misty catches Cordelia staring at her with an unreadable look in her eye, she takes another shot without so much as a word. 

Queenie flicks her eyes between the two of them before whistling, ‘ _okay, then_ ’ under her breath. “I’m going to get us more shots. Don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”

Misty finally turns her head away from Cordelia and drums her nails on the table in a sudden burst of nervous laughter. “Co, truth or dare?”

“Dare. C’mon, tell me to flash someone or something. This is baby stuff.”

“Go tell the bartender you’ll wait for him to finish his shift n’ that you wanna go home with him.” Misty sits back, pleased with herself.

Coco raises her eyebrow in amusement and takes the last shot off the table. “I did that twenty minutes ago, babe.” After they all recover from stomach-hurting laughter, Coco asks, “Cords, truth or dare.”

Cordelia winces in reply. The alcohol has finally done its job of kicking in, and the room seems to be closing in on her. She feels everything too intensely; the slight sheen of sweat at the nape of her neck, the beat of some Madonna song, and of course, Misty’s eyes on her every few moments. It’s overwhelming. “Dare.”

Her best friend of eighteen years looks her up and down wickedly. “I dare you to kiss someone at this table.”

If time had been slowing to a crawl before, it stops fully now, as if a train had come along and hit her so hard she’s been suspended in mid-air. Cordelia looks around the table wildly for help, but no one will meet her eyes. In a sudden burst of clarity, she says, “Okay. Come here, Co.” She goes to take Coco’s cheeks in her palms, but Coco dodges her gracefully. 

“Get away from me. Anyone but me, you’ll ruin my lipstick.”

Cordelia looks at Zoe, deciding that, no she can’t do that, and then at Queenie who makes a motion that tells Cordelia not to try it with her either. The only person left is -

Misty glances at her innocently; like an angel, dark brown eyelashes fluttering gently across her cheeks the way snow drifts slowly on the lawn. Cordelia wants to kiss them too. Time seems to speed up to a brisk pace as Misty leans forward, sucking in a breath Cordelia knows is out of nervousness. 

Before Cordelia can finish her query wondering if that’s okay, if she can finally do the one thing she’s longed for since the first moment they met, Misty is pressing her lips to Cordelia’s. Her eyes fly shut. Misty is soft and so, _so_ gentle about it, as if she’s treating Cordelia like a delicate object. 

Cordelia thinks briefly that she’d love for Misty to treat her like a rag doll, instead.

The kiss is short, way too short for either of their liking, so Cordelia does what she does best by self-sabotaging and pulling Misty back in. It jolts Misty by surprise for a quick moment, but then her lips part and her tongue is moving and oh, _God_ , she’s whining into it. Their friends simply don’t exist in the moment, because the only thing remotely on Cordelia’s radar is Misty’s one hand tangled in her hair and the other creeping slowly up the exposed skin of her thigh where her dress has ridden up.

Misty gasps sweetly into her mouth, warm and wet. It sends a pulse of arousal through Cordelia, and that’s enough to get her to remember where they are. She pulls back at once, startling them both. With one more soft peck, she releases her grip and puts several inches of space between them. Clearing her throat, she tries to hide the delicate blush creeping up the column of her neck.

Coco, obviously, is the first to speak. “So, first off, I said kiss, not dry hump. Second, did y’all want us to leave, or?”

Queenie and Zoe nod their heads in comical similarity. “We can go, like, fuck off somewhere.”

“No,” Cordelia says too quickly, “I’m having fun with you guys. Another round?” She’s already halfway to the bar before anyone can reply. The same bartender that Coco is planning to take home is there, ready to give his best award winning smile. Cordelia ignores his attempts at getting her to flirt back, simply ordering one more round and an extra shot she takes before returning to her friends.

Immediately, she asks, “Where’s Misty?”

“Something about needing to pee and then ordering an Uber,” Queenie answers nonchalantly, as if Cordelia’s life has not just been rearranged in the last ten minutes.

Should she be freaking out? Is _Misty_ freaking out? Should they talk about this? Ignore it? Cordelia goes into panic mode, hoping desperately Misty hasn’t left yet. 

“I’ll be back, you guys,” she stands from the table and turns, searching for the most beautiful woman amongst the sea of indistinguishable faces. A flash of blonde catches her peripheral, and she swirls around to see Misty descending down the staircase. Halfway down, Cordelia catches up to her.

“You were just going to leave?”

Misty whirls around, caught off guard. Her blonde waves follow the movement of her head, and Cordelia has to physically wrench her eyes off the intoxicating sight. “Nah, well - yeah, I guess. I needed some air. Figured you gotta lot a’ people to say g’bye too. I took up too much of ya time,” Misty steadies herself by gripping the staircase, plastering a fake smile across her face.

“I want to come with you. Let me say goodbye to everyone.”

“To my house? You wanna come with me?”

Cordelia nods slowly. “Is that okay? One final trashy tv night?”

Misty squints in disbelief, unsure if Cordelia is being completely honest with her intentions. “Okay, yeah. I’d like that. I’ll get us a ride while you say bye.”

“Perfect. Don’t go without me.”

“Scouts honor, darlin’.”

Upstairs, Cordelia hugs all of her friends goodbye, promising she’ll not only call but visit. It’s sad, of course, especially when Coco _actually_ cries a little, but the thrill of spending one last night with Misty has her bouncing in excitement.

The ride to Misty’s house is quiet, save for the driver who attempts to flirt with Cordelia every chance she gets. When Misty possessively scoots closer towards her and rests her head on Cordelia’s shoulder, the woman finally catches the hint, winking at her knowingly in the rearview mirror. Cordelia, of course, ignores the entire exchange in lieu of feeling Misty’s body pressed up against her own.

Misty kicks her shoes off the second she walks inside, and Cordelia does the same. They both sigh in relief, toes curling on the cool, white shag carpet Misty keeps in her foyer. They share a glass of water in the kitchen, and Cordelia has never been so thankful for the ice cold liquid. It’s too hot in here. She’s not sure if it’s the warm night or the incessant white-hot heat burning in her lower gut, but everything seems to be happening either way too fast or way too slow like sand in an hourglass.

Intimately taking the glass from Cordelia’s hands and setting it in the sink, Misty leads the way up to her bedroom, where she strips down to her undergarments and slips on an old t-shirt. Cordelia has seen this before, has watched her in various stages of undress, but something hits differently tonight. She can’t discern between the alcohol and her feelings towards leaving in a few short hours, but a streak of raw, unfiltered recklessness runs through her.

She stands in the middle of the room, still as a statue while Misty rummages behind her for something.

“I want you to fuck me.”  
  
It’s there, out in the open for Misty to take and do with it as she pleases. What Cordelia doesn’t expect, though, is a sharp laugh.

“You’re so drunk,” Misty giggles, then continues, “I’d fuckin’ kill for some pasta right now. You think any place is open?”

“Misty.”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“I’m serious.”

That finally stops her unnerving movements. “You’re what?”

“I know what I’m asking for. Don’t make me say it again.”

Misty really considers this for a moment as she goes to remove her rings. Her actions are lethargic and calculated, like she knows she has an audience. Cordelia watches the scene unfold with bated breath.

“Okay,” she finally says to placate, then repeats, “okay,” as if accepting it.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Where do you want me?” Cordelia wrings her hands out anxiously, hoping her voice doesn’t betray her and showcase her emotion.

“Don’t people usually do this on a bed?”

Cordelia barks out a shrill laugh, shaking her head to rid the nerves away. “I suppose they do.” She takes her place in the middle of the bed, legs long and delicately crossed atop crisp baby blue sheets. 

Misty stares at her a moment, a hawk eyeing up its prey. This is how they’re doing it, she guesses; her being the one in charge tonight. Cordelia doesn’t have the ability to do anything but comply to Misty’s every waking desire; an undeniable urge that sizzles pleasantly at the base of her skull.

Her head lulls to the side on the comfortable pillow, her hair fanning out luxuriously as she watches Misty’s careful movements. Each step closer to the bed sends another delicious stab to her gut, a feeling of complete longing ghosting over every inch of Cordelia’s skin.

Finally, after waiting for what feels like lifetimes, the bed dips and Misty is finally in it. Mirroring Cordelia, she lies on her side and grins so wide all Cordelia can see are the whites of her teeth. It makes her grin, too.

Misty taps her bottom lip twice, silently asking, _is this real_? - an implied request for Cordelia to part them so she can lean in and kiss her again. This time isn’t as frenzied, certainly not as relentless as it was at the bar however many hours ago. Cordelia really wants to take her time here, wants to count Misty’s breaths as they fan across her face when she dips lower to explore her bared throat. The places that make Misty whine and grip at her harder are stored in memory for later use.

Swinging a leg overtop Cordelia’s lap and tugging her into a sitting position, Misty takes a fistful of her blouse in each hand and tosses the offending object behind them. She asks, “Is this okay?” 

Staring eye level at Misty’s chest, Cordelia swallows thickly, blinking the cloudiness from her eyes. She manages to wrench her eyes away and look up, only to be greeted by a real life angel staring back. 

“Yes,” she answers, then more coy, “Can I touch you?”

Misty tosses her head back with wild, angelic sounding laughter. “I guess that’d be the point a’ all this, yeah? ‘Less you want me to do it myself n’ let ya watch.” 

As much as Cordelia would love to see that - and God, what a sight that’d be - she shakes her head. “No, I want to.”

“Get goin’ then, slow poke.”

Cordelia’s first step; albeit rather clumsily, is to trace the cup of Misty’s white lace bra with her pointer finger. With nimble touches, she tugs it down until a pert nipple is exposed to the cool air; earning her a sharp hiss from Misty. Cordelia arches her neck up and sucks it in her mouth, pleased when Misty releases a low moan that has her body ascending in desire. She spends time there, using her tongue and lips in all the right ways until Misty is gasping and groaning and wiggling her hips for relief.

Her fingers dip low as her lips coax bruises to fruition; skimming the elastic of Misty’s panties. Misty takes her wrist and halts the teasing, guiding them both inside the fabric. Dipping in, they both gasp at how wet she is, foreheads knocking when they both look down to watch their hands move together. Removing her own fingers, Misty holds them up in the pale moonlight and Cordelia has the gall to take them in her mouth and suck on them.

“Don’t regret this,” Cordelia murmurs as if reading her thoughts. She takes the pliant skin of Misty’s bottom lip between teeth and rocks in tandem with the way Misty arcs forward with a whine. An intense moan drops from her lips at the harsh friction of Cordelia grazing over her clit, where she then lines up two fingers and waits.

Misty levels their gazes, allowing the eye contact to send searing arousal through her. Choosing her next words carefully, she replies, “I won’t if you won’t,” and sinks down.

They both sigh in relief, as if their lives have been nothing but tragic up to this moment. 

(It has been.)

Misty’s hands grapple at her clothed back, holding onto her steady as she rolls her hips into rhythm. Her nails leave blunt indents, and she hopes, fleetingly, that Cordelia will feel them long after this is over. “ _Harder_ ,” she gasps, adoring the squeeze of Cordelia’s grip on her waist. Her rhythm is frenzied now, feeling only Cordelia inside her and Cordelia’s lips on her skin, as if that is the only thing that will ever matter again. She finds herself unable to care, in the moment, when a thumb begins rubbing steadily over her clit. 

As she bounces up and down, Misty gracefully slides her hand between them and presses down on the flimsy fabric between Cordelia’s legs. This stutters Cordelia’s incessant thrusts, a high pitched squeak from her mouth reverberating amongst the four walls of the bedroom. Thankfully, _blissfully_ , Misty doesn’t tease; just angles her wrist forward and shifts inside warm heat so that their pace can be in sync. 

Cordelia catches the hint immediately and strokes at her harder, rubs the pads of her fingertips over the part that makes Misty release these magnificent sighs over and over. Misty pushes her towards the brink just as fast, almost embarrassingly so. For all the yearning and wanting Cordelia has done, she hadn’t expected to come so quickly for Misty; but her chest in still eye level and she’s making these sweet noises and her fucking thumb is making these circles and -

She comes with a low wail that borderlines on a sob, her thighs sticky and hot where they instinctively clamp around Misty’s wrist. With a few more swipes over her clit, Misty cries out and jerks against her, following right behind. 

It’s not fair, the sound she makes as she comes. Cordelia will now never remember anything else, only the guttural moan ripped from Misty’s voice box, hot and throaty in her ear.

Their bodies cherish each other’s embrace, skin vibrating with satisfaction like hot oil sizzling in a pan. The waves of pleasure that knocked into them slowly disperse, leaving them gasping for air on dry land.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Cordelia breathes, reclining back and draping an arm over her eyes like she can’t stand the sight of Misty in her afterglow. 

Misty crawls up on top of her, their torsos pressed together heavenly. She starts nipping at Cordelia’s neck, her chin, the jut of her collarbone. Lifting her arm off her face, Cordelia panders her with a smirk. “What are you doing?” 

“What’s it look like I’m doin’?” Misty licks her lips, and, _oh_ -, “I wanna have my mouth on you.”

Cordelia arches her back and helps Misty pull her panties down, not bothering to take her dress off all the way. There are other, more important things happening in the moment like Misty kissing up the inside of her thighs and using her tongue so obscenely it really should be considered cruel.

Seconds, minutes, or hours later for all Cordelia knows, Misty kisses her way back up her body and smiles; _really_ smiles like she’s just secured the winning lottery ticket in life. Her lips are wet and her hair is beyond salvageable, but Cordelia has never seen Misty look so positively exquisite. Two orgasms from Misty’s talented mouth should be illegal, she believes, but it’s nothing compared to how criminally beautiful she looks now.

Cordelia bats her face away, feigning annoyance. “Don’t touch me, you absolute heathen. You’ve ruined me,” she accuses.

Misty tickles at her waist until Cordelia howls and gives in, allowing her to kiss her properly. She threads her fingers in Misty’s hair and holds her close, lips bruised and swollen. They take time in parting now, like they know it’ll be the last few kisses they’ll be able to share for however long Cordelia stays in New York. A rumble of sadness quakes over Misty, an all too familiar feeling now that Cordelia is actually here in her bed and no longer a figment of hour long day dreams.

To keep her rather unsavory feelings at bay, Misty snuggles into Cordelia’s chest, where her head fits perfectly in the curve of her neck like it’d been carved specifically for her. No words are spoken out loud, but her mind is screaming so intensely that Misty is afraid if she opens her mouth she’ll begin saying things she shouldn’t.

Like if Cordelia cared for Misty even a fraction of what Misty cares for her, she’d stay. Or that maybe, just maybe, Misty has fallen impossibly harder for her. Just a little. 

Instead, she closes her eyes and allows the peaceful feeling of Cordelia scratching her back lull her into a dreamless sleep.

The rain pounding on her bedroom window is not what wakes Misty up. The slamming of her drawer for the second time really pulls her awake, making her blink the fuzzy sleep from her eyes. An aggravated sound from Cordelia has her sitting up in bed, tugging the cool sheets around her half-naked body.

Cordelia is repeatedly opening drawers and cursing under her breath, desperately searching for something. She whirls around when Misty croaks, “What are you doin’?”

“I, I - can’t find my underwear anywhere and I need to leave. I overslept, I’m going to be late. Where the _fuck_ do you keep yours?”

“What do you mean you need to leave?”

Cordelia looks at her as if she’s grown two extra heads. “Misty, I’m leaving. I’m going home. This isn’t news,” she snaps.

“Home,” Misty repeats, letting it roll off her tongue like poison. She guesses that word has never left such a sour taste in her mouth before.

“Misty,” Cordelia cries impatiently, “where do you keep your underwear? I’m so fucked if I don’t get on this flight.”

“Third drawer down.”

Ripping Misty’s old shirt off and redressing in her outfit from last night, Cordelia rushes towards the bathroom for some semblance of personal hygiene. It makes Misty’s chest hurt, watching her rummage around her belongings like she lives here. Like they’re hers. 

Without thinking, Misty whispers, “Don’t go,” pathetically, like she’s ashamed of asking it. Emotional weather brews on her face, a storm of rage and sadness that sends a rich red flush across her neck and chest. 

Cordelia is back in the room, clasping her earring back on. “What did you say?”

“I said, don’t go.”

Again, all she gets is an incredulous look from Cordelia. 

“Well aren’t we gon’ talk about this?” Misty hikes the sheets higher around her, feeling self-conscious and exposed like Cordelia hadn’t explored every inch of her body six hours ago.

“Talk about what?” Cordelia answers, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

That sends a wave of panic over Misty, and she feels herself go numb. She bites her bottom lip to keep from wailing, but her eyes betray her and fill with tears.

Cordelia has finally gathered all her belongings, standing in the doorway and surveying the room like she’s forgotten something. 

(Or someone.)

When she catches Misty’s expression, she stalks back over and takes her cheeks between palms, brushing their noses together. Kissing her once, then one final time, she murmurs, “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll call you when I land.” If she can taste Misty’s salty tears, she kindly ignores it.

It’s nauseating, how good she looks walking out the door.

Violent sniffles turn into sobs that wrack her frame as Misty contemplates her life now. She’s feeling too much all at once, like the space in her brain is unfairly occupied by Cordelia and of nothing else. Deciding that she can’t do this alone, she dials one of two numbers she knows by heart and prays she picks up.

“Babe, it’s like nine am, and I think I’m on my deathbed. I’m too hungover for this shit, so somebody better be dying.”

_\- Does my soul count?_

When Misty just bursts into louder sobs, Coco releases a puff of air. “Oh, baby, what’s the matter?”

“She left,” Misty wails.

“Well, yeah, we said goodbye to her last night,” Coco reminds.

When Misty only cries harder, it takes a minute for Coco to play catch up. “Oh,” she replies, then more knowingly, “ _oh_.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh honey, what are we gonna do with you?”

“I _need_ her. I need her so badly it’s all I think about, Co.” Misty wipes her cheek with the back of her hand and it comes back dripping wet.

Coco clicks her tongue. “I knew this was gonna happen. Y’all were too touchy feely for me to believe you two were just friends. And that kiss was -”

“Shut up,” Misty hiccups. Her fingers are tracing mindless patterns on her pillow, the same one Cordelia had laid her head on less than two hours ago. She snatches her hand away at the reminder. Earlier that morning, before the skies opened up and they were even fully awake themselves, Misty had blinked the deep sleep from her eyes and fucked Cordelia long and slow, exchanging no words in the quiet hour. Pale thighs, wet fingers, pursed lips. Cordelia had pressed her face in that same pillow to muffle her dreamy sighs, wondering in the moment if it’s possible to pass out from the sheer magnitude of pleasure. 

(Kissing Cordelia when the first spatters of rain dropped on her roof had felt like a fever dream - the kind you think about for years to come like a honey dripped memory full of sweetness and achingly soft tenderness.)

They’d fallen back to sleep together; limbs and, unbeknownst to them, souls intertwined.

Coco’s voice snaps her back to present. “What can I do for you? Buy you a plane ticket to New York? Drive you to the airport in some dramatic display of love and hope you catch her before security?”

“Who said anything about love?”

“I can hear it in your voice,” Coco says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Misty sits on this for a moment and quietly accepts it as fact, because she knows, deep down, that yes, she might be a little in love with Cordelia. No use dwelling on that now, though.

At this point, she had meandered down the stairs in search of something that would put her stomach at ease at the very least. Her heart is a completely different story. Contemplating between the items in her fridge, she asks, “Is it too early for a mimosa?”

“Absolutely not.”

Forgoing a glass and orange juice; just taking the bottle of champagne with her up to bed, Misty downs half of it in less than five minutes. The rain pours down on her roof, a steady beat like the same one her heart makes for Cordelia. She lies there for what feels like hours, glossy eyed as if watching paint dry. Taking a glance at the clock on her nightstand, she sits up and decides, very suddenly, that Cordelia should know how she feels.

Dialing her number, she prays that Cordelia doesn’t pick up; but she timed this so that she’s likely going through the abysmally long security line with her phone on airplane mode. (Because Cordelia's a rule follower like that - turns her phone off when it's required, leaves on time to catch flights she shouldn't be on, breaks hearts she has no business breaking.)

When Cordelia’s voice chirps through telling whoever’s calling to leave a message, Misty lets the alcohol sink low and slow in the back of her head. At the beep, she closes her eyes and begins talking.

_‘Hi. It’s me. I’m, um - just sitting here where you left me a while ago. I dunno why I’m calling, really, I guess I just wanted to hear your cute lil voice again. I know you’re probably really busy with your fancy life so I’m not gonna drag this out, but I thought you should know that I think I love you. Actually - no, I’m pretty positive I do. This ain’t some big surprise, but it’s all new to me and it fuckin’ sucks you’re gone, so I guess I gotta deal with it. I just figured you should know. Don’t worry about callin’ later, it’s probably best you don’t ‘cause otherwise it’ll be harder for me in the long run. I hope you have a beautiful life in New York. And I mean that, you really deserve it. I hope we can meet again, sometime, in another life. Bye, Delia.’_

Satisfied with herself, Misty turns her phone off and tosses it facedown, collapsing back with the now empty bottle. 

She can deal with the consequences after she closes her eyes and lets the comfort of sleep wash over her. Snuggling into her mattress, she drunkenly inhales the scent of Cordelia’s perfume still clinging to her pillow. Releasing a shaky breath, she flips onto the other side and hopes desperately when she wakes this will all have been a sick dream.

It’s dark, when she wakes again. The steady pitter of rain has yet to cease, the gloominess of the day only adding to the sadness of Misty’s ravaged heart. Her house is quiet, creaking and groaning with the wind. She thinks she might be okay, just for a little while, under the comfort and security of her blanket. That’s blown to shit, though, when the doorbell blares annoyingly through her home. 

Squeezing her eyes shut, Misty hopes desperately that whoever it is will fuck off and realize she absolutely does not want company in this state. Another long press of the bell has her begrudgingly slipping into a robe and slippers.

She refuses to acknowledge that the slippers are Cordelia’s she’d left after spending several nights together curled up on her couch.

Swinging the door open angrily without checking the peephole, she barks, “What do you want?”

Standing there, like an absolute vision, is the woman that’d left her eight hours ago. Misty stares bewildered at her, like she’s seeing right through a ghost.

“Hi,” the angel speaks, and if voices could cause instant death, Misty would be six feet under.

She feels her mouth go dry. She hadn’t thought to check if she’d actually been dreaming this whole time, nearly pinching herself in disbelief.

“Can I come in?”

Rain drips in a puddle at Cordelia’s feet, darkening the ends of her hair and plastering them to her collarbone. If Misty wasn’t so mad, completely unraveled, and downright confused, she’d lovingly brush the wet hair from her face. Instead, she steps aside and allows Cordelia to remove her soaked shoes.

Neither of them speak for a prolonged moment; Misty because she has no words, and Cordelia in fear of saying the wrong thing. Standing in her kitchen, feeling wholly unprepared for this, Misty keeps her shaking hands busy by pouring them both a tea, making Cordelia’s just the way she likes it. She remembers how Cordelia always lit up when she brought her tea and it hurts so badly she almost doubles over in pain.

Sitting rigidly across from each other at her breakfast nook, Cordelia finally speaks. “You don’t answer your phone when people call?”

Misty stares at her blankly. “It’s upstairs.”

“I called you a dozen times. You can't just leave a voicemail like that and then not pick up your phone.”

“Oh,” Misty had forgotten about that, with her drunken haze and four hour sadness nap. “I was drunk.”

“So you didn’t mean it?”

“Mean what?” she takes the easy way out, pretending she doesn’t remember every single word of truth she’d spoken from the confines in her heart. They both know this.

“Misty.”

“What do you want me to say, Cordelia? Last night meant something to me and you completely disregarded it this mornin’ like it meant absolute jack shit to you.” Her anger startles them both, causing Cordelia to retract backwards as though she’d been slapped.

“Is that what you believe?”

“You sure hightailed it outta here this morning like someone was chasin’ ya.”

“I had a flight to catch,” Cordelia answers, strained.

“Sure seems like you’re havin’ a fuckin’ blast on it.” Misty gestures apathetically towards Cordelia sitting here in her kitchen and not on the plane she’s meant to be on.

“Misty.”

“Sorry,” she replies lamely.

“Last night did mean something to me,” Cordelia finds the strength in her to boldly reach across the table and place her hand over Misty’s, soothed when she doesn’t immediately pull away. “Don’t you know that?”

“You left me.”

“I know that.”

“That’s all you got t’say?”

“No, it’s not. I was sitting on that plane, listening to your voicemail over and over when I realized something.”

Misty doesn’t press Cordelia to continue just yet, knowing she’s just as much as an emotional wreck as she is. Every second that passes has Misty understanding more and more that this isn’t easy for Cordelia either; that it’s complicated and terrifyingly difficult to comprehend.

“I realized, Mist, that New York isn’t my home. It’s just the place I live. My home is wherever you are.”

As if the heavens are listening, glorious silence follows; the rain coming to a complete halt like the clouds have decided enough is enough.

“What are you telling me?”

“I’m saying that I’m here. I’m home. I’m not leaving.”

Misty blinks her eyes shut and waits for the gotcha that always seems to follow. When Cordelia is silent, she lets one tear drop fall, then another. She’s quickly hunched over with sobs, comforted only by Cordelia letting her process this without being overwhelming.

Cordelia continues, “I talked to Coco earlier, and she’s going to get me a job at this academy she knows of, where they’re looking for a headmistress. And Aunt Myrtle, she’s more interested in finding Italian men to play with than ever coming home, so she said I can stay at hers as long as I need to get my shit together.”

“You’re really doing this? You’re staying here, with me?”

“As long as you want me.”

“I always will,” it comes out as a warning.

“That’s fine,” Cordelia feels her soul lift towards the sky, weightless with love. “Come here,” she requests. Intimacy colors her voice like bleeding lines of a marker on paper, painting it with lust and admiration.

For the second time in all of twelve hours, Misty finds herself in Cordelia’s lap. A strong hand splays possessively on her spine, the other brushing strands of wild hair away from her eyes. “I love you,” Cordelia says shakily, her eyes bright and wide. Her thumbs brush across the soft flesh of Misty’s lips, slowly, to map them. She wants to follow the trail with her mouth. ”I do. You’re worth it.” 

“We sure took a roundabout way of gettin’ here,” Misty says curtly, but her tone is filled with such tenderness and adoration.

“We’re here now.”

“You’re here now.”

Cordelia breaks into a smile that has Misty’s heart stuttering in her chest. “So kiss me, then.”

And so Misty does, for a long time. She finds herself unwilling to come up for air; wants Cordelia to steal all her oxygen so that being in her arms is the last thing she feels before succumbing to the afterlife. Maybe, if she’s lucky, Cordelia will also be there with her. With her lips attached securely to the skin right below her ear, she murmurs, “Take me upstairs.”

Cordelia complies immediately, standing so she can lift Misty in her arms and hike her thighs around her waist. In her quiet bedroom, she tosses Misty lovingly on the bed and makes up for leaving three times; using her lips and tongue in a sacrilegious form of apology.

Two hours later, their spent bodies lay flush against each other, chests rising and falling in sync. Cordelia’s head is right above her heart, hearing the divine sounds of a steady beat created specifically for her and her only. 

In her future, all she sees is this. Pink pouted lips, sunshine colored hair, cream colored skin flushed with exertion. It makes her giddy, lightheaded, and emotional, like her excitement is so palpable it could burst from her chest.

Misty’s dreamy voice startles her from the daydream. “I can’t believe you.”

Cordelia looks at her and sees only her smile, the beautiful blue eyes staring so reverently back at her. She never wants to see anything else, ever. “What did I do?”

“You got off the plane.”

“I got off the plane, baby.”

**Author's Note:**

> everyone say thank you alyx for paying me to do this
> 
> comments, requests, commissions, sugar daddies all welcomed


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